Four's Frustration
by Dendroica
Summary: One-shots from Divergent in Four's perspective, beginning with the knife-throwing lesson (My take on Veronica Roth's 'Free Four'). So far all one-shots occur during book 1. In progress.
1. Four's Frustration

Author's Note: I have enjoyed the Divergent series so far, and have read "Free Four." However, I didn't agree with everything as it was presented from Four's POV. So here is my own version of the Knife-Throwing scene from his perspective. I believe it follows Divergent completely, and contains some pieces from Free Four. All characters, dialogue, and the divergent world belong to Veronica Roth. Thanks for reading - and thanks to Belle453 for looking over an earlier draft. Hope you enjoy. (Edited to correct Peter's home faction)

* * *

I should be asleep. I'm still tired from the night's game of capture the flag, but my body refuses to rest. I need it. There's precious little time remaining for sleep before the day begins.

I can't avoid thinking of her. It's good that I'm already accustomed to hiding my feelings. Otherwise I'm sure Eric would have noticed something by now. She is amazing. She is the first Abnegation transfer I have seen here other than myself, but she already belongs more than I do. She's fearless. She's smart too, at least as smart as the Erudite transfers. She was the only person on my team to truly think strategically last night.

She would have climbed the Ferris Wheel on her own if I hadn't gone with her. Climbing seemed to bring her to life, despite her fear. I can still close my eyes and feel her presence, close enough to touch. I can still feel her skin, when I supported her tiny body against the wind. She isn't afraid of heights like I am, but she still knows how dangerous that was. I thank God I did go with her. I shudder to think what might have happened, if that support beam had broken away and no one had been there. Or if I couldn't get that deathtrap to run when she was hanging there. It was the only thing I could think of at the time. If I weren't already fighting my fear of heights and the dizzying distraction of her presence, maybe I could have climbed up and caught her. Of course that would have put us both in more danger. Fears exist for a reason.

Initiation hasn't been easy for her. Why would it be, when she's been in Abnegation her whole life, never so much raising her voice in an argument. She may not be suited for hand-to-hand combat but she belongs here in Dauntless more than I do. She hasn't shut down once that I've seen, no matter what's been thrown at her. It makes me so curious, I want to come to training if only to see how she faces each new challenge. She's already known as the first jumper. She's deceptively small, so you'd never guess how tough she is. If she can score well enough in her remaining fight to not be cut, she can make it. She's already stronger than she was when she arrived. She just needs to use her size and speed to her advantage. I tried to tell her that. I hope she was listening, but I couldn't even bear to watch her first fight. It was just wrong, her being matched against that brute who's twice her size.

At breakfast I sit with Zeke and Shauna. It was Zeke who'd told Uriah about the capture the flag game from our initiation, about hiding the flag on the carousel. I don't blame him for talking with his brother, but it still irks me that the Dauntless initiates always get inside information, allowing them to skate through training just a little easier. I don't know much about the non-transfer initiates other than what I've heard from their siblings, though in a matter of days I'll be watching them face their deepest fears in the simulations. Last night didn't tell me much. Marlene's strategy relied on flirting, and Uriah's on his brother's success. Too bad, I'd have liked to see what location my team would have come up with on their own.

Not that they had showed any sign of teamwork - at least not until Tris' plan at the end. Teamwork and strategy, she had said, when I asked her why she thought we were playing capture the flag in the darkened city. She demonstrated both, even if she was the only one. She'd already come up with a plan by the time I'd told the others about the flag - and her plan worked. She won us the game, no matter who carried the flag. Then again, I couldn't really judge the other initiates based on last night - I hadn't been much of an instructor to the rest of them. I'd been busy facing a few fears of my own.

I try not to look at the table across the room, but I can't help a glance. She is with her transfer friends, Christina and Al from Candor, Will from Erudite. You would never guess it's been mere hours since she faced death on that Ferris Wheel. They are in good spirits though they must be tired; Christina is still relishing her part in last night's victory. I had mixed feelings when I saw Christina with the flag. Mostly I am glad that Tris did not draw the ire of their opponents - Peter and his friends. I wonder how strong Tris' friendships are. She will need friends if she's going to make it through initiation. I wish I could be her friend, give her the help she will need, but I can't. I'm their instructor and I am expected to cow the initiates, not to befriend them. I have to hide behind the façade of a Dauntless instructor, terrifying and aloof. In truth I have already been more honest with her than is wise. She already knows one of my greatest fears. I need to be more careful - I cannot seem to show favoritism. Especially for a Stiff. Especially in front of Eric.

I'm relieved when Eric ignores me at breakfast, until I'm reminded I won't be able to escape him in training. I do not fear him, but I am wary around him. I hate seeing the brutality he directs at the initiates, like forcing them to fight against their better judgment. And today he will be particularly dangerous. Eric is not happy that my team beat him, given his interpretation that I'd picked the small and the weak - he somehow fails to see their talent for speed and cunning. You would think he would know better. Eric is smart - too smart - but he lets his belief in brute strength get the better of him. He'll be particularly vicious today, looking for ways to assert his authority. I'll have to be particularly cautious. I can't show any weakness in front of him. Naturally Max picks today to stop at my table and ask how the transfer initiates are progressing. Too bad Eric is only one table away, close enough to notice. This will only add to his bad mood.

As I walk to the training room, I wonder if I could have done anything differently. I would enjoy training the initiates more if it weren't for Eric. He has never gotten over coming in second during our initiation. I didn't know he would be supervising the training, but I have no choice but to deal with it unless I accept Max's offer to join the Dauntless leadership. But I could never accept Max's offer of leadership. I don't believe in his vision of the Dauntless. Besides the very fact that I am here is proof of my cowardice. If they knew, they would never offer me leadership. I would be factionless. Only days ago, that was my plan.

In the training room I am centered and focused. In front of the transfers, I am supposed to intimidate, as if they didn't get enough of that from Eric. But I know what I have to do in these sessions. The room smells of salt and steel, the same as it did when I first set foot in here as an initiate. Knife throwing is not the most practical skill for the initiates to spend their time on, but I appreciate that it teaches focus and control. At least I don't have to worry that she'll be beaten to a bloody pulp by someone twice her size, doggedly refusing to give up.

A large target board stands on the far side of the room. In the open space between me and it, Eric stands rigidly watching the initiates arrive. There is no question that he is going to be relentless today. The faction transfers line up across from him. It's still all to easy to pick them out by their old factions. They will have to let go of their pasts if they are going to survive here.

"Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one," Eric tells them. "You will resume fighting then. Today, you'll be learning how to aim." His gaze hovers somewhere above my head, as if I am too unworthy to be looked upon. My body stiffens at the insult and I force myself to breathe slowly. I will not let him bother me, even if I must let him think he is winning whatever contest he imagines between us. For me the only contest is hiding the truth from him. "Everyone pick up three knives, and pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them."

The initiates don't move at first. "Now!" he barks. I will have to be attentive today, waiting for whatever small complaint draws his wrath. I hope Tris is smart enough to stay out of his way.

The initiates scramble to the table as a group and gather their knives, inelegant tools appropriate only for training. She is there along with the rest, talking with Christina as they grab their knives and gather with the others. They are on edge, perhaps because of Eric's attitude, but I can't think about her now. I have my own knives in hand. Ignoring Eric and the initiates, I walk to the middle of the room and align my stance with the target. I focus on my breathing, on the weight of the knives in my hand.

I hold the first knife loosely, finding its balance point. I let the air out of my lungs, then inhale as I draw my arm back. On the exhale I swing my arm forward and with a flick of my wrist release the knife. A second later the tip of the blade sinks into the center of the target with a quiet thud. I see Eric moving in the corner of my eye, but I don't look away from the target. Almost mechanically, I repeat the process and demonstrate with the second knife, then the third.

When I've finished, I leave the knives in the target, the blades crowded against each other in the center circle. It's unlikely any of the initiates will hit the center of the target after just one session, but my knives will remind them of their goal. Instead of retrieving the knives I simply move toward a side wall and out of Eric's path. "Line up!" he orders. The initiates scramble into a line and begin throwing knives. At first I don't watch her. I start with the transfers from Erudite and Candor instead. There are too many of them for my liking, but they are the most usual transfers to Dauntless. Not like Abnegation. The Candor make me most uncomfortable, maybe because honesty is dangerous for Dauntless Divergent. Erudite aren't much better - they can be ruthless and therefore dangerous, even if I am careful enough to hide my true nature.

First I observe her shaggy-haired friend Will. He is gripping the knife far too tightly, causing his release to be clumsy. I remember how Amar used to carry his knives during training and how he used them to show us what we were doing wrong or how to correct a flaw. I grab a few dull knives from the training table and return to Will. I am not as kind as Amar was, but I use one of the knives to tap the flat side of the blade against his fingers. I tell him to loosen his grip before he loses a finger. I move slowly down the line, keeping away from Eric and watching the initiates. Their knives fly clumsily and thud onto the floor. They expect it to be easy and it's not.

Peter hurls his knives with force, but he has no skill for this. He's watching the other tributes and worrying about who's ahead of who instead of focusing on his own technique. Just as I'm about to move on, Peter taunts her. "I think the Stiff's taken too many hits to the head!" he jeers. "Hey, Stiff! Remember what a knife is?"

There was a time when I was the Stiff, back before the Fear Landscape gave me a new name. When Eric was the one bullying the other transfers.

I glance toward her and see annoyance in her expression. Her stance suggests she has just released a knife but all her knives are bunched in her off hand. She is practicing her stance and positioning, still clumsy, without using a blade. She doesn't look toward Peter, but as she transfers a knife to her throwing hand it's clear his jab bothers her. She's focused though, staring ahead at the target board. I watch with interest as she practices her throw again, without releasing the knife. Her stance isn't great, but it's better than half the other initiates. Most initiates hold their breath when they throw, but even from a distance I can tell she's breathing. She takes a deep breath and throws the knife, this time releasing it, a little early. But the knife spins through the air and hits the target with a dull thud before clattering to the floor. She's the first to hit the board at all. Warmth spreads through me. I smirk as victory lights her face and she retorts, "Hey Peter, remember what a target is?"

I force myself to look away from her, looking instead to Albert. Albert is surprisingly ill-suited for Dauntless. It is hard to believe that he and Peter were both raised Candor, they are such polar opposites. Many would see Al's size and assume he'd do well here. I simply expect a Candor-born to know themselves too well to choose a faction they are such a poor match for. As the other initiates begin to hit their targets, Al is still hopelessly flinging his knives awkwardly into the floor and the wall. With an inward sigh I move on to Edward. Officially Edward is the most promising of the transfer candidates, but the knives are difficult even for him. At least he handles the weapons with ease if not finesse. For the next half hour, practice runs smoothly. The initiates alternately fling their weapons toward their targets, with varying success, then scamper across the room collecting them again.

Just as I'm beginning to think that today's session won't be so bad after all, Eric strikes. His voice booms through the otherwise quiet room. "How slow are you, Candor?" He is picking on Al, who has yet to even hit the board. "Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?"

In frustration and desperation to prove himself, Al throws his knife hurriedly. It flies to the side and clatters against the wall. If he can't handle Eric's gibe, he won't have much chance in stage two of initiation. Al is already at risk of elimination. If his final fight tomorrow doesn't show major improvement, he will never have to face stage two. He will already be factionless.

Will I be factionless soon? My plan was to leave Dauntless after this group of initiates, even if it meant dealing with my traitorous mother. Does that change now? Is Tris reason enough to stay? I think she could be, but it's foolish to plan my future around an unproven initiate I've barely spoken to. If she fails initiation, maybe we will both be factionless. But I don't think she will. Selflessness and bravery are not so far apart. Tris belongs in Dauntless. She could be the kind of Dauntless I believe in. I wonder what she would think of those ideas. She seemed to be listening last night on the Ferris Wheel. I said more than I should have then, whether it was because we were for once alone away from prying Dauntless eyes and ears or because we were hanging 60 feet off the ground. I might as well have been in my fear landscape. Nothing like fear to bring out uncomfortable truths. But I want to tell her.

Eric is not letting Al off easy. He looks from the boy to the knife, laying on the floor a little over halfway to the target. Then he leans in, a bully sensing weakness. "What was that, initiate?" he sneers. The other initiates have stopped throwing, all focused on what is happening between Eric and Al.

Al's face turns bright red. "It- it slipped." he mutters.

"Well, I think you should go get it," Eric says viciously. His eyes scan the other initiates as if only now noticing his audience. I wait, alert to where Eric will take this.

"Did I tell you to stop?" Eric demands, his eyes wild. The initiates practically jump at his words and knives are again tossed across the room.

Al's fear is obvious. His eyes twitch across the room as if looking for help."Go get it? But everyone's still throwing."

"And?" Eric asks.

"And I don't want to get hit," he says obstinately.

Eric smiles cruelly. "I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you." Then he orders Al, "Go get your knife."

"No," Al answers. He sets his jaw with determination. It's probably the most Dauntless thing I've seen him do since he arrived here.

"Why not?" Eric narrows his eyes. "Are you afraid?"

I dread the answer. Albert is not smart like the Erudite. If he doesn't learn, his Candor background will betray him.

"Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife?" Al says. "Yes, I am!" Inwardly, I groan. Have these initiates learned nothing about their leader? Has Al already forgetten about Christina hanging over the chasm?

"Everyone stop!" Eric shouts. The room falls silent as the airborne knives thud against their targets. One clatters to the floor. By the time it stops moving, everything is silent. "Clear out the ring." Eric orders. "All except you." He points to Al.

Knives drop to the floor, another series of clattering blades against cement. Quickly the initiates move out of the ring, then crowd around to watch what is about to happen.

Eric tells Al, "Stand in front of the target."

I lean against the wall, wishing it would swallow me whole. Every muscle in my body tightens as Al walks back to the target, hands shaking with fear. I don't believe for a second that Eric will throw knives at the boy. Not that he'd have any qualms about injuring him, but today Eric won't do it himself. He needs to throw his weight around. I know what's coming, what Eric is going to demand of me. I do not want to do this. The boy is already practically factionless. Why torture him further? I only have seconds to decide how I'm going to handle this.

"Hey, Four," Eric looks over his shoulder at me. "Give me a hand here, huh?" I push myself off the wall and try to act casual. I scratch my eyebrow with the tip of a knife, hoping to appear relaxed as I buy myself a little time. I walk calmly toward Eric at the center of the room. Inside I am frantically searching for a way out of this.

Eric turns back to Al. "You're going to stand there as he throws those knives, until you learn not to flinch."

Why today, when Eric is already furious, already begging for a chance to put me in my place? Why Al, who is so hopelessly out of place here? I will tire before Al learns that lesson. I will slip, especially given that my good knives are still planted in the center of the target and all I have is the clumsy training blades. My entire body is alert. I don't want to throw knives at all. I have to try to get out of this. "Is this really necessary?" I try to make it sound not like the challenge it is. I'm hoping to sound bored.

He stares at me so I meet his gaze. "I have the authority here, remember?" He says, so quietly I wonder if the others even hear him. "Here, and everywhere else." His voice is at once coldly calculating and hot with anger. He will not back down.

I clench my fists around the knives, wishing I could wrap my hands around Eric's neck instead. Without showing any emotion, I force myself to accept the situation. I will have to stay focused now. _Just get it over with_, I tell myself._ Maybe Al will stand his ground_. Knife in hand I turn to face Al, standing in front of the target. I position the knife in, finding its balance. It's lighter than I would like. I identify a spot on the board to the left of Al's ear where my knife will land. Because I still have Abnegation blood, I will do what I can for the clumsy boy.

"Stop it." Her angry voice rings through the silence.

My heart falls. She is too selfless, too Abnegation. It makes her brave but if Eric pays enough attention to figure that out he will see her as weak. I glare at her harshly, turning the knife over in my hand. _Shut up_, I think. _Don't do this_. She looks back at me, unwavering. It's too late anyway.

"Any idiot can stand in front of a target," she says to Eric. "It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice." What is she thinking? She shouldn't make herself a target of Eric's wrath. Why doesn't she get that? She's smarter than this. I know she is.

"Then it should be easy for you," Eric retorts. "If you're willing to take his place." How easy the bluster is for him when he is in control.

For a second she hesitates. Did she really think Eric would back down? It is already too late for her to retreat. Then the hesitation is gone and she moves forward through the crowd of intiates. Molly shoves her shoulder as she passes and Peter hisses, "There goes your pretty face." Then he elbows Drew and sneers at her, "oh, wait, you don't have one." Bile rises in my throat. Sometimes I'm surprised Peter is not from Erudite, as he's another initiate made in Eric's mold - a vicious bloodthirsty boy intent on tearing down others to make himself feel big. He would never sacrifice for someone else. But he's an idiot.

Maybe Tris isn't pretty, but she's so much better than just pretty. Tris is vibrant. She is alive. She is electrifying. Her face is solemn as she walks toward Al. To act despite my fears I must first acknowledge them. The fear that I am not strong enough for this. That my aim will not be accurate enough. That I will lose any trust she has for me. That she will flinch and have to face worse from Eric. That Eric will see through my stony façade and realize what's underneath.

My heart pounds as it did last night, as I raced down the ladder in hopes of starting the Ferris Wheel and getting her safely to the ground. I picture her on the Ferris Wheel again, her eyes gleaming. I remember the feeling of her hand clasped between mine, the sound of the laughter that bubbled out of me when I knew that she was safe. Tris is not what most men would find enticing, but I am not most men. A plan begins to form in my mind. It's too late to keep her out of this, but at least Tris is brave and at least it's me with the knives. I am at once relieved and so very sorry for that. But she can be Dauntless, and I know how the Abnegation think. That means I can help her. I hope she trusts me enough.

I weigh the knives in my hand as she reaches the target and takes Al's place, giving him a nervous smile. She's so short that the center of the target is visible above the top of her head. She faces me despite her fear. I have ordered the knives by their weight and balance, saving the knife with the best balance and most familiar weight for last. I transfer the first knife to my throwing hand. It is light, and could go off-target too easily, but I will have a little leeway on the first throw.

After what she's said in front of everyone, she can't flinch, not even once, or Eric will brand her a coward and who knows what will happen. She meets my eye and I know she can do this. Still I feel I have to make her brave. I choose my words carefully, speaking slowly and hoping the weight of each word steels her resolve. "If you flinch," I tell her, "Al takes your place. Understand?" She spoke up to save her friend, and that is what will give her the strength to stand firm now.

Eric hovers behind me, too close. Thankfully I am well versed in hiding my true feelings from him. I lock eyes with her and breathe as I draw back the first knife. I don't trust its too-light weight. Aiming six inches to the side, I exhale and throw the knife. She doesn't so much as twitch a muscle as it buries itself into the target, a mere half-inch from where I'd wanted. One down. She closes her eyes with relief. That won't do.

"You about done, Stiff?" I challenge her. _Because if you are, Al will have to take your place._ And she is too brave and too selfless to let that happen.

She doesn't know I call her Stiff because I have to remind myself of where we are and who is watching. Here I have to treat her like the others. I cannot let Eric see how she affects me. Because I want to be able to separate this time, when I am her instructor and she is my student, from some other time, when I might mean something else to her.

She shakes her head. "No."

"Eyes open, then." My voice is hard, because Eric can't know I'm helping her. She opens her eyes and glares at me, determined. I tap between my eyebrows, so she'll keep them open and focused. I find the balance again and throw the second knife. It thuds into the board just above her head, almost close enough to touch her hair. Two down.

Behind me Eric is still hovering. I can tell he isn't happy. She's too strong - he won't be happy unless someone suffers. I don't trust him with the knives and I can't give him any excuse. And I won't let her fail, which means I have only one choice. I cannot give him an inch of leeway to doubt her. She has to be unflinching and I have to throw perfectly.

Again I choose my words carefully so that Eric will just hear a taunt. "Come on, Stiff. Let _someone else_ stand there and take it." I want to remind her of what is at stake for Al and bring out her selfless bravery. She would never let someone else fight her battle for her.

"Shut up, Four!" She's rigid with anger. Good. At least if she is angry Eric won't think her weak. I can feel in every beat of my heart that she will face my last knife fearlessly, that even if my knife pierced her chest she would not cringe.

I have no choice, Eric breathing down my neck. He cannot know. I turn the knife in my hand and raise my arm, knowing I must be faultless. I exhale as my arm extends, and release the knife.

Tris stands steady as a rock while the knife flies through the air and hits its target. I give her a meaningful look as she touches her ear, finding blood. It tells her I had no choice, that it was the only way to satisfy Eric. I hope she takes it as a warning. She's seen Eric's cruelty. She shouldn't make herself a target again.

I am still on edge as Eric walks up to her, nodding his approval. Turning toward the small crowd of initiates he tells them, "I would love to stay and see if the rest of you are as daring as she is, but I think that's enough for today." Then he squeezes her shoulder and smiles down at her possessively. She looks uncomfortable. I want to rip his arm off.

"I should keep my eye on you," he tells her, before walking out of the training room. I am still tense. I wish she could have let Al take his own punishment. I don't want Eric keeping his eye on her for any reason. He disappears into the hallway and the initiates trickle out after him. I wait around, still hiding my relief as I pull my own knives from the center of the target and return them to their leather pouch. I will know better than to leave them behind again. Then I pull out the knife that nicked her ear, studying the small streak of blood on the blade. I watch her from the corner of my eye as the room empties. I can't show compassion in front of the others, even the initiates. She's waiting too, which is good I think. But she doesn't look at me until everyone else has left the room.

As soon as we are alone I move toward her. I want to touch her, hold her, to tell her how brilliantly brave she was and make her see how dangerous Eric is. But I can't. I start to ask if her ear is okay, hoping that the nick was no worse than necessary. Until now I haven't allowed myself to get close enough to see it. Before I can even ask the question she yells at me accusingly, "You did that on purpose!"

Her tone throws me. I stare her down and answer quietly. "Yes, I did. And you should thank me for helping you." Because as glad as I am that we got through that, I never want to have to do it again. Tris needs to be more wary of Eric.

She sets her jaw, gritting her teeth. "Thank you? You almost stabbed my ear, and you spent the entire time taunting me. Why should I thank you?"

My eyes narrow. She has no idea what just happened. She thinks I was taunting her? Doesn't she get that I was helping her? Frustrated I growl, "You know, I'm getting a little tired of waiting for you to catch on!" I have to remind myself she doesn't know I was Abnegation once too. She thinks I don't know what makes her brave. I look into her wide eyes and can see that she's still running on the adrenaline of having knives thrown at her.

Angrily she retorts, "Catch on? Catch on to what? That you wanted to prove to Eric how tough you are? That you're sadistic, just like he is?"

My chest feels hollow at her accusation. I cannot believe this is the same girl I chased up the Ferris Wheel. How can she be so smart about that, and so dumb about this? How could she compare me to Eric? Doesn't she see me at all? I can't tell her the truth, but oh how I want to. I answer her with quiet forcefulness, "I am not sadistic." I am hurt that she thinks so little of me, that her trust in me has been broken so easily. I want her to know she can trust me. I lean in close to her and shake my head telling her, "If I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I would have already?"

I have to stop myself from reaching out to touch her. Frustration boils in me and I know I have to get away. Now. I stalk out, slamming the bloodied knife into a table on my way to the hallway. I hear her begin to shout something as the door bangs shut, but I don't stop. With long strides I walk through the Dauntless compound to the Pit, taking the side path down to the water. Few people are around at this hour. The path into the chasm is barely noticeable, but it leads to my refuge. Surrounded by the sound of the rushing water, I sit on the edge of the flat rock, my legs hanging over the edge.

Here in the chasm, I fall back into my habit of reflecting on the five factions tattooed on my back and my own secret goal to be not only dauntless, but the others as well. My successes and my failures. Amity. Kindness is difficult, it feels too foreign and vulnerable. I have not been kind to her. Kindness does not belong in the training room, under Eric's sharp gaze. The closest I have come to kindness was that brief moment when Christina had the flag, when I told Tris she'd done well. I am not brave enough for true kindness, but I'm working on it. If only I weren't her instructor. Erudite. I hope that I was smart enough today, at least smart enough to deceive Eric another day. Obviously I wasn't as smart as I should have been - I couldn't find a way to show her she can trust me. Candor is impossible. I cannot be honest here in Dauntless, about so many things, which is just evidence of my cowardice. Yet she drew truths out of me on the Ferris Wheel. I am Abnegation still, it's my care for her that drove me up that Ferris Wheel despite my fear. I know that I will be selfless - if there is cause I will suffer for her sake. But I don't think she will need me. Dauntless. Only I know what an imposter I am in my own faction, and it is hard for me to recognize any bravery in my actions. But I can act in spite of my fear, and I can be brave for her sake and my own.

Is it my divergence that makes me appreciate all the factions, and shows me how tearing each other down is so harmful? I was convinced that I could never feel at home here, but I wonder now if I could. I wonder if I will be able to earn back her trust, or if the show I must put on for Eric will forever turn her against me. If only she can make it through inititation.

Tris is strong, and now she has proven herself again. She is a fresh reminder to me of exactly how powerful selflessness can be. I know somehow that she will make me brave again. I know that I will be able to act despite my fears, as long as she is here.

What would happen if she knew how I felt? If she could see through the act, would she like me? Want to be with me? I wonder if it could be safe for us here, if I will always be able to hide my divergence in the sea of the Dauntless. I am already planning how it could work. Strategizing about when I can catch her alone again.

* * *

A/N: Apologies for typos etc. What do you think? What was going through Four's mind that morning?


	2. The Crows

A/N: Another day with Four. Thanks all for the encouragement to continue this series and to Belle453 for her superb beta.

* * *

Half a day into Stage 2 and I already need a drink. So many of the initiates scream and then cry themselves to the point of exhaustion before they can control their response to their first simulation. I have to remind myself that the simulations are necessary for teaching the initiates control over their fears. It will be torture for them and not much fun for me either.

Maybe Eric would enjoy watching the initiates as they face the fear simulations for the first time. I only do it because I know this will make them stronger in the end. It's not easy to face your fears. At least the simulations provide a controlled environment for it. How will Tris respond to the simulation? Will it bring out the same daring energy that I've seen in her before?

I can't help but wonder if her first simulation will be anything like mine. If her father is anything like mine. The article that the Erudite published today claims he is. I saw it this morning - about all the transfers away from Abnegation, the second article this week stirring up trouble against Abnegation. Of course it's not supposed to reflect poorly on a faction just because people transfer, but if Erudite's looking for ways to attack Abnegation, it's no surprise they're using this. I hadn't realized how many transfers there were. That much of the story must be true, because it would be common knowledge among those who attended the Choosing Ceremony. The rest of it ... who can say. Their story about me was true, not that I wanted that information distributed. At least most of the Dauntless have long forgotten my real name. But the story about Tris ... I don't even know if I want it to be true or not. I don't, of course, but then again, if we're the same then maybe she won't think I'm pathetic when she learns who I really am. Even though Molly's from Candor I don't doubt that she could have made up that story, but I also don't doubt that if Tris ever did have a nightmare about her father, Molly wouldn't hesitate to tell a reporter about it.

Lynn cries out and I pull myself out of my thoughts. The dauntless-born initiate is lost in her simulation. I already knew who she was before initiation, since she's Shauna's sister, but I hardly recognize her now that she's shaved all her hair off and started wearing baggy clothes. In Lynn's simulation, she is lost in a white-out blizzard on a frozen lake. At this point in the simulation, the ice is breaking up around her, so her footing grows more and more tenuous. She has gone from screaming to crying, and is shivering despite the normal temperature of the room. Seconds tick by and I stay attentive. In the end, she is hunched into a small ball on the shrinking piece of ice before she finally gains control eleven minutes into the simulation. She comes out of the simulation, as suddenly as the rest, and heaves gasping breaths of air. She clutches her shirt to her as if to warm up. She is tough though. Within a few minutes of getting out of the simulation, she's giving me lip, ready to walk out the door.

After she goes, I return to the hall and call Tris to the simulation room. I feel more alive just at the idea of seeing her simulation, and how she handles it.

The trouble starts the moment she steps through the door. She's barely crossed into the room when she sees the metal chair, the simulation equipment, and the computer. She jerks to a stop so suddenly that I walk right into her. Already she is afraid, searching for how to get away from the simulation machine. She wants nothing to do with it and we haven't even started yet.

"Sit," I tell her, pushing her toward the chair.

"What's the simulation?" she asks shakily. Her awareness that this is something to be feared confuses me. The only simulation she's been through is the aptitude test to select her faction, and how bad could that have been? From what I hear the Dauntless usually have to show some inclination toward using a weapon on some threat, but it's not THAT bad. Most initiates don't realize what they are about to face when they enter this room.

Could it mean that she is Divergent? She seems like such a natural Dauntless, I've been assuming she's just a normal transfer from Abnegation, that her test told her she was Dauntless and that is why she is here. But what if I am wrong? If she knows she's Divergent, and how dangerous that is here, it could explain why she is already so terrified. More likely that's just wishful thinking, my brain trying to find more things we have in common.

I need to calm her down, and the best way to do that is to help her understand what she's about to face. "Ever hear the phrase 'face your fears'?" I ask. "We're taking that literally. The simulation will teach you to control your emotions in the midst of a frightening situation." It's a version of the speech I give them all.

She touches her forehead with a shaking hand and stiffly takes her place in the chair. Alert but in control. "Do you ever administer the aptitude tests?" she asks. Her voice is still not calm, but it's better than before. So now I know she is thinking about the aptitude test - and not some rumor or gossip about initiation from here in Dauntless. _Is she that afraid just based on the aptitude test?_

I push my curiosity from my mind. "No." I remind her, "I avoid Stiffs as much as possible." It's the truth, though she hasn't recognized me as Abnegation-born so she won't understand it. It reminds me of seeing her mom a few days ago, when I told her the same thing - Tris' mom didn't recognize me either or possibly, because she is Abnegation, pretended so for my sake.

"Why?" she asks, though I've warned her against personal questions before.

What would I tell her, if it were up to me? I can't forget she's still just an initiate. I can't be myself with her. "Do you ask me that because you think I'll actually answer?" I ask drily, entertained.

"Why do you say vague things if you don't want to be asked about them?" she counters.

She's got me there. I want her to figure me out. I want her to WANT to figure me out, as much as I want to understand her. I wish I could be honest with her, but I can't. So why is she the only person to notice that I'm purposefully vague, or at least the only person to call me on it?

I brush her hair to the side and, in a small act of selfishness, allow my fingers to slide across her neck. She tenses at my touch, then tilts her head back to watch as I prepare the injection and freezes at the sight of the needle.

"An injection?" she asks, her eyes fixed on the large needle.

"We use a more advanced version of the simulation here," I tell her, "a different serum, no wires or electrodes for you."

"How does it work without wires?"

"Well, I have wires, so I can see what's going on," I explain. "But for you, there's a tiny transmitter in the serum that sends data to the computer." Again, it's nothing I wouldn't tell any initiate. While we are in this room, I am her instructor. I move her arm and slowly press the needle into the pale skin on the side of her neck and she winces.

"The serum will go into effect in sixty seconds. This simulation is different from the aptitude test," I say. "In addition to containing the transmitter, the serum stimulates the amygdala, which is the part of the brain involved in processing negative emotions —like fear—and then induces a hallucination. The brain's electrical activity is then transmitted to our computer, which then translates your hallucination into a simulated image that I can see and monitor. I will then forward the recording to Dauntless administrators. You stay in the hallucination until you calm down—that is, lower your heart rate and control your breathing."

Her eyes are wide and her breathing is already getting shallow. At this point I always tell the initiate to be brave, but for her I take her head in my hands, leaning toward her. I whisper the words to her, "Be brave, Tris. The first time is always the hardest." She looks me in the eye before the simulation takes her over.

As soon as she is out, I sit at the computer to monitor her simulation. She is outside, in a field of tall dry grass. An unlikely place for an angry father, but it's still a possibility. Or perhaps the field will catch fire and she will be surrounded by smoke and flame. I can't tell yet, but simulations often begin slowly like this. There are still a million possibilities. I am waiting to see who else enters the scene, but no one comes. No human, that is. A shadow swoops by and a large black crow lands on her shoulder. she bats at it and tries to shake it off. When it doesn't move, she grows more panicked and hits at it harder and harder. Then the sky fills with crows, all descending on her at once.

This will be her first simulation - a flock of angry, vicious crows, calling and pecking at her flesh with their beaks. It's intriguing - what fear does this represent? Sometimes fears translate into simulations directly - fear of heights, for example. Other times, the fears masquerade in some allegorical way. I'm guessing this is symbolic of some other fear. Tris is screaming, calling out. It hurts me to hear her in pain, but I know it's not real. She has to learn to get through this on her own. I know she is strong enough. My own heartbeat picks up slightly, anxious for her because in this moment it feels real to her, but as soon as I notice my response I breathe again, reminding myself of why we do this, and regain my control and calm. In the minute or two that has passed, more crows have arrived. She's crying for help that I cannot give her. She has to lower her heartrate and control her breathing on her own. Calmly I watch the simulation and will her to conquer her fear thinking,_ You can do this_. In the simulations, you have to fight your own mind - fight your own strength. I am prepared to see her anguish, to see her writhe in imagined pain and vainly battle against her fear. It will take her some time to find her way through.

And then, suddenly, she stops. She's not screaming. Tears roll down her face but she is breathing, striving to control her breath. In the simulation, she stops fighting the crows, laying in the grass and surrendering to them. In no time at all her heart rate slows, and her breaths become regular.

The simulation releases her. It's over, and I'm still stunned by how fast it was. How did she gain control so quickly? I look at the clock and see that only three minutes and change have passed since she went under. Across the room her eyes open and she screams, flailing to free herself from the imagined birds. As I walk over to her she pulls herself into a tight ball, groaning. I place a gentle hand on her shoulder, knowing the effects of the simulation are slow to wear off, and her fist flies out and hits my side.

She sobs and spits, "Don't touch me!"

She's not the only initiate to lash out - there's always a residual effect of the simulation when you first come out of it. "It's over," I say, hoping to calm her. She doesn't need sympathy. Look what she can do, already. I watch her and hesitantly move my hand to her hair. I'm uneasy with any type of intimate physical contact - it's completely foreign to me, but human contact can help bring her back to the real world and despite my unease I want to touch her. This seems acceptable.

She rocks back and forth in the chair. She can probably still feel them on her skin. I can usually feel my father's belt for a good half hour after I've been through my fear landscape. "Tris." I say, trying to bring her out from the post-simulation haze. She just needs to get out of this room, so she can see the real world again and not those crows. "Tris, I'm going to take you back to the dorms, okay?" My voice is quiet.

"No!" she snaps, then raises her head to glare at me through her tears. She's stubborn, that's for sure. "They can't see me…not like this…"

She's too concerned with what others think of her. Doesn't she realize they've all been through the same thing? She has just proven her strength and still she doesn't want to appear weak. But being with her friends will only help her right now. "Oh, calm down," I tell her, rolling my eyes. "I'll take you out the back door." Really I send all the initiates out through the back, for their own sake and for those still waiting. She, like all of them, will have time to gather herself before facing the others in the dorms.

Stubbornly she objects, "I don't need you to." I wonder if she's so fiercely independent that she refuses help automatically, or if she's averse to my help specifically. Has she forgotten about teamwork, or decided she has no need for it? Nobody can survive here without some help and some sort of friendship. Even I rely on my friends from initiation.

"Nonsense," I say, pulling her out of the chair and leading her to the back door. She lets me.

She walks in silence at first, but then jerks away from me demanding, "Why did you do that to me? What was the point of that, huh? I wasn't aware that when I chose Dauntless, I was signing up for weeks of torture!"

I raise my eyebrows slightly. Why does she blame me personally for what's part of initiation? I still can't read her, and she seems intent on misreading me. Calmly I answer her, "Did you think overcoming cowardice would be easy?"

"That isn't overcoming cowardice!" She fumes, "Cowardice is how you decide to be in real life, and in real life, I am not getting pecked to death by crows, Four!" She covers her face with her hands and begins to sob. I wait for her to collect herself.

"I want to go home," she whimpers.

I watch her, pursing my lips as I think of what to say to her. Her statement is more telling than she knows, answering my unasked questions about her family. Home is still a refuge in her mind, a safe place. Something I have never known.

I know this is just a reaction to the simulation. And worse, I know just how serious a threat Erudite is to the Dauntless - and the Abnegation. Given the Erudites' plans, I imagine that Abnegation will soon be an even more dangerous place to be than Dauntless. "Learning how to think in the midst of fear," I tell her, "is a lesson that everyone, even your Stiff family, needs to learn. That's what we're trying to teach you. If you can't learn it, you'll need to get the hell out of here, because we won't want you."

"I'm trying," she wails. "But I failed. I'm failing."

I sigh. It would be funny, if she weren't so serious. I can still hardly believe how quickly she pulled herself out of the simulation. I'm not supposed to tell her how she's done compared to other initiates, but if the Dauntless-born can have advantages then the Abnegation-born deserve a few of their own. "How long do you think you spent in that hallucination, Tris?"

"I don't know," she answers despondently. "A half hour?"

I don't let myself laugh at her misjudgment. I correct her saying, "Three minutes. You got out three times faster than the other initiates. Whatever you are, you're not a failure." I have to wonder though, what is she? I already know she's Dauntless. How did she calm down so quickly, when she had been so distraught? Unless she knew she was in a simulation - _is Tris Divergent?_ I wish I knew, but if she is Divergent, she's better off if nobody catches on. I give her what is meant to be a reassuring smile. "Tomorrow you'll be better at this. You'll see." Tomorrow will be easier on me, too.

"Tomorrow?" she asks, as if she has forgotten that this is all part of training. Which reminds me that I have two more initiates still waiting back in the hallway.

Now that she is calmer, I touch my hand to her back to remind her that we are supposed to be heading back toward the dormitory. I can feel the warmth of her skin through her shirt and press her into moving again.

As we walk, she glances over at me and asks, "What was your first hallucination?"

Is she being analytical and trying to understand the simulations, or is she trying to figure me out? She is calm and thoughtful, completely recovered from the simulation. Usually I wouldn't answer such a personal question from an initiate. But because it's her I'm tempted to tell her. I suppress my usual scolding. "It wasn't a 'what' so much as a 'who,'" I shrug to discourage further questions. "It's not important."

She doesn't press about the identity of my greatest fear, but asks instead, "Are you over that fear now?"

"Not yet," I say. As we reach the door to the dormitory, I lean against the wall, hands in my pockets - not ready to leave her yet. She finished so quickly, I reason that I have some time before I need to go back for Drew and Uriah. "I may never be," I tell her, which is probably more than I should admit.

It's not what she expected to hear, and her brow furrows a bit. "So they don't go away?"

My hands leave my pockets on their own accord. "Sometimes they do." At least, that's what I've been told. "And sometimes new fears replace them." Mine have not changed in my two years here. I am still the same boy that fled Abnegation in fear. I keep thinking I've grown, but when I go into my fear landscape it's always the same. I am always the same.

I hook my thumbs into my belt loops so that I won't give in to the temptation of touching her. _I am just her instructor_, I remind myself. So I instruct, "but becoming fearless isn't the point. That's impossible. It's learning how to control your fear, and how to be free from it, that's the point." She nods, and I think she may actually see what I am telling her. She should understand, now that she knows I am afraid of heights, she knows that she sees fear controlled whenever I navigate the Dauntless compound. "Anyway, your fears are rarely what they appear to be in the simulation."

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"Well, are you really afraid of crows?" I ask in turn. The very idea is laughable. Crows are common in the city, including the Abnegation sector, and I've never known of someone fearing them. I allow a smile and tease, "When you see one, do you run away screaming?"

"No. I guess not," she answers thoughtfully. She looks at me and I can't tell what she's thinking. Then she leans against the wall next to me and looks at me and shifts. It's as if she's mirroring me and I feel as if she has forgiven me for the crows, for being the person who subjected her to that nightmare. I feel my heart in my chest.

"So what am I really afraid of?" she asks me. It sounds like a dare.

"I don't know," I tell her. "Only you can know."

She nods slowly and tells me, "I didn't know becoming Dauntless would be this difficult." Her candor suggests that she trusts me but then she bites the inside of her mouth as she looks up at me as if worried about how I will react.

"It wasn't always like this, I'm told." I think of what I've learned about Dauntless history. With a shrug I add, "Being Dauntless, I mean."

"What changed?"

"The leadership," I answer plainly. I want her to know who is to blame for the current state of Dauntless. "The person who controls training sets the standard of Dauntless behavior. Six years ago Max and the other leaders changed the training methods to make them more competitive and more brutal, said it was supposed to test people's strength. And that changed the priorities of Dauntless as a whole." With irony I add, "Bet you can't guess who the leaders' new protégé is."

It's so obvious that she doesn't even bother to answer the question, but skips ahead to follow her own deductions. "So if you were ranked first in your initiate class," she says, "what was Eric's rank?"

"Second," I answer.

"So he was their second choice for leadership." She nods as if understanding something. "And you were their first."

I haven't told her about Max. Curious I ask her, "What makes you say that?"

"The way Eric was acting at dinner the first night. Jealous, even though he has what he wants," she explains. She's been reading into us from the start. If she's already figured him out, I wonder what she's decided about me. She hesitates, then wipes the remaining tears from her face and runs her hand through her hair. She looks at me and asks, "Do I look like I've been crying?"

"Hmm." I hum, leaning in even closer to her, narrowing my eyes as I inspect her face. Our conversation has given her time to recover. The blotchiness has faded from her skin; her eyes are back to their usual piercing brightness. Even her lips are strong again. She looks determined. I wonder if I will remember the pattern of the freckles on her nose tonight. The corners of my mouth twist up into a smile, and I can feel a tension between us as she waits for my answer, perfectly still. Unfailingly brave. "No, Tris," I tell her truthfully. My smile fades. "You look tough as nails."

She leaves me there, so I return to finish the last two simulations of the day. Uriah escapes his in just over six minutes, which would be impressive if not for Tris. Drew takes longer. He is the last simulation of the day, and I count the seconds as his wails drag on, echoing through the empty room. After sixteen simulations I am finally done for the day. It's going to be a long week.

After training Eric corners me about the simulations. I think he takes glee in the initiates' pain. I'm sure he'll be watching all the tapes to see just what each one of them went through, and for signs of divergence. He won't find any, not that I could see. His constant presence is just another infuriation of being an instructor. As soon as I can escape I find Zeke with his usual group. I readily accept the bottle he offers and take a swig. The time away from the initiates is my chance to be a little more myself, to not worry how they see me, though I am always aware of how I'll be perceived by the Dauntless. With the taste of the alcohol and the company of friends, I can erase their fears from my mind and relax. I may not be as close to them as they are to each other, but these people are the closest thing I have to friends. I doubt they would accept me so easily if they knew the truth. They think I have conquered fear. Even now, even drinking, I know who to be and what I can and cannot say.

Time passes. The bottle empties, and is replaced with another, and the group finds its way to the Pit. After watching fear simulations all day, I don't really care about the ordinary danger of the chasm hovering nearby. For me one mistake is all that separates me from death anyway.

Zeke describes the latest in a series of pranks between him and Penny, a Candor transfer from our year who guards the fence now. After our initiation banquet he was passed out drunk and she covered his face with make-up and they've been going back and forth ever since. I thought it was done awhile back, but I guess the new round of initiates inspired one of them to start it up again. Harmless fun. For some reason I am laughing so hard from the image of him waking up after that banquet that I stumble, so I push myself into the railing and find I have to hold onto it just to stay on my feet. I should really be more careful, so close to the chasm.

I'm just recovering my breath when I see her. "Tris!" I call to her before I can think to stop myself, because I'm a little fuzzy from drink. She looks over at the boy beside her. He has blond hair. I realize it's Will and if I were sober I might wonder about their relationship but the world seems brighter just focused on her so I pull myself upright and walk over to her. I have to think about where to put my feet in order to walk a straight line. She's changed clothes and is wearing a shirt I've never seen her in that shows off her delicate collarbone and wiry shoulders. She has a tattoo across her collarbone. Her eyes are dark and magnetic, pulling me in. Between the change of appearance and the alcohol, I'm a little stupefied. "You look different," I say, fighting the alcoholic haze to look at her. I want to look at her tattoo and see what it's of but I can't seem to look away from those eyes.

"So do you," she answers. "What are you doing?"

"Flirting with death," I laugh even though it's not funny. "Drinking near the chasm. Probably not a good idea." I hear Zeke's deep voice from behind me and look back toward my friends. They're having fun. Maybe they haven't even noticed me talking to her, I don't know. If they have, they don't care.

"No, it isn't," she agrees, guardedly. She's not being very friendly. Probably because the Abnegation don't drink. Well, she didn't have to sit through sixteen simulations today. She only had to deal with her own.

I tear my eyes from hers and finally look at the tattoo and say, "Didn't know you had a tattoo." Something about the tattoo makes me want another drink so I sip from the bottle in my hand. "Right, the crows," I say - connecting her tattoo and her simulation. There's another thought somewhere in my brain but I can't seem to reach it. Tris' friends are all just standing there staring at us. Us. She'd have more fun with us than them. I want to ask her to come with us, but even drunk I know I'm not allowed. No making friends with the initiates. Let alone girlfriends. If we'd even get that far. I don't get to find out now. All that has to wait. Baldly I say, "I'd ask you to hang out with us, but ... you're not supposed to see me this way."

Her eyes get smaller. "What way? Drunk?"

"Yeah…" I say, anxious to agree because I am drunk, and the drink leaves me less guarded. But then I realize that's not quite right. Drunk is not what I have to hide from the initiates. Even drunk I know they're not supposed to see me being ... I look for the right word. "Well, no. Real, I guess." Real. That's it. And we are not alone and I shouldn't be this real but I can't help it because my brain is slow from the alcohol and I want to see her Real too and I have never seen her look like this and I really don't want her to think of me as her instructor.

"I'll pretend I didn't," she answers. She is being kind to me even though I am drunk and I watched her today as she fought off imagined crows and I couldn't do anything and now the crows are on her collar and I want to touch them but I won't touch them because I'm remembering that I'm her instructor and I'm not that kind of guy and anyway we're not alone but I wish we were.

"Nice of you," is all I say. Then I lean closer to her because she looks so different but I see that same pattern of freckles across her nose and I want us to be alone like we were outside the dorms and I want to tell her, just her, and I say, "You look good, Tris."

She laughs and for a moment I am annoyed. I was not being funny. But the laughter makes her smile and then she looks at me with those striking eyes and says, "Do me a favor and stay away from the chasm, okay?"

That makes me smile widely. "Of course," I tell her. I give her a wink and she grins back at me and I know I'm supposed to leave but I can't help but look at her a little longer. Then the boy next to her clears his throat as if we don't know he's there. Actually I'd forgotten about him. With her smile and her voice still in my thoughts I walk back to my friends, taking another sip from my bottle though I feel lighter than I have all day.

I'm about to look back to see if she's still there but Zeke waves me over like he wants to ask me something. Then I hear her shriek but in a friendly way and I look back to see her hanging over Albert's shoulder, waving goodbye and suddenly all I wish is that I was 16 and I was an initiate instead of an instructor. My friends are laughing together about their trip to the Hancock building and their siblings' reactions to the zip line. Since I was a transfer, I've managed to avoid going myself and nobody has questioned it, probably because they assume I'm bored by the idea, when really I'm terrified by it. Somehow Tris got invited along this year, which is strange enough in itself, but even stranger is my friends suddenly calling her by name. Soon after I rejoin them Shauna even declares that Tris out-dauntlessed the other initiates and it makes me happy knowing that the other Dauntless know what I know, that she belongs here. I listen to them talk about their adventure and I think it would almost be worth it to have gone, just to have seen her that alive. I remember seeing her arrive back in the dining hall with them; she looked electrifying and it took all my control not to stare at her windblown, beaming face. I almost say something about the Ferris Wheel but before I get the words out Zeke is laughing about Uriah's shrieks when it was his turn on the zip line. And that's better because even with my friends I shouldn't let them know what I am thinking about her and I don't think they know. Or maybe they do and don't care. I sip more slowly from the bottle, remembering that smile and those words ... "_do me a favor_ ...," she asked.

As I walk back to my room later that night I wonder what it would be like to hold her hand in mine, or to kiss her. But I know I have to wait until initiation is over. I hope she doesn't like another initiate because they can be kind to her and I can't. But I remember her smile and feel like we're already sharing secrets. I wonder if she knows how many of my secrets she has seen. I don't wonder for long because as soon as my head hits the bed, the fading alcoholic haze pulls me into dreamless sleep.


	3. New Rankings (part one)

A/N: Thanks everyone for reading & supporting these one-shots! Thanks especially to guest reviewers & to Belle453 for her beta. :)

* * *

When I find Zeke and Shauna at the usual hangout, they both look at me expectantly.

"Well?" asks Zeke.

The corner of my mouth curls up at the expectant looks on their faces. As much as they love to give their siblings hell, it's obvious how much they care about them. Though I don't show it, seeing their love written so plainly on their faces leaves me feeling separate from my friends and their whole, healthy families. It reminds me of Tris' comment after her simulation today.

She came one step closer to learning the truth about my past. She wasn't trying to pry into my life; she was just looking for validation that missing her family wasn't a terrible thing. I tried to tell her it's not, but I wasn't going to lie to her - I don't miss my family. She didn't dismiss it or act like something's wrong with me - she knows it means something, she just doesn't know what. And to her credit, she didn't pry. I think of how she looked at me, before walking out of the simulation room. Like she wanted to say something more but couldn't, which is exactly how I feel every day now. It's strange how she tries to explain herself to me, as if I would hold her fears against her. She's not the only one, but it feels different coming from her. Maybe that's because I actually care.

There is so much I would tell her if I could. Hearing her say how she misses her family, I wanted to assure her that she belongs here, and to be strong a little while longer. That she'd be Dauntless soon. All she has to do is get through the final stage. I keep telling myself, it's only a matter of time until she is officially Dauntless. Then we won't be instructor and student, and it won't matter to the Dauntless leaders or to her fellow initiates if I like her.

Zeke and Shauna are anxiously awaiting the news. I relent to my friends' curiosity. "You don't have anything to worry about. Lynn is first, Uriah second by a hair. They'll be officially Dauntless soon enough." They both let out whoops, pounding their fists against the bar and slapping hands in celebration.

"So they could rank high then. Who's their competition?" Shauna asks. Tris comes to mind. And Peter, who would be scary good if he could learn to control himself though he doesn't show much inclination for it. He is ruled by emotion - or maybe simply by cruelty over reason.

I raise an eyebrow and answer with fake hostility, "You think I'm going to tell you?" It's sort of a joke, being aloof with them like I am with the initiates. I'm not planning to tell them about Tris - the only transfer whose times compete with Lynn and Uriah.

Zeke rolls his eyes. "You're obnoxious, you know. At least tell us about the third musketeer?"

I imagine he's thinking of our own initiation class, and the strain the standings put on friendships. They'd been friends with a girl named Amanda during our initiation, who struggled and resented their higher rankings. In the end she cut herself off from them, and without their support fell apart emotionally and didn't make the final cut into Dauntless. Uriah, Lynn, and Marlene were already friends going into initiation and have managed to stay that way so far through their training. They're so close; it's hard to imagine the standings causing problems for their friendships even if any of them were in danger of being cut.

"Marlene? She should be alright," I answer. At fourth among the Dauntless-born, there's more of a chance for her to drop in the standings, but she's been improving in the simulations. With her friends' support she should make the cut. Zeke is really only asking for the sake of his brother anyway.

I had been one more reason for Amanda to cut herself off from them. The second night in the Dauntless compound, I couldn't sleep - one of the other transfers, an Amity boy, was wailing in his bunk after our first lesson in fighting. So I walked out of the dorm and not a minute later almost walked into Shauna, who was standing in the middle of the hallway around the corner from the Dauntless-born dorm throwing punches in the air. I'd been watching Amar studiously during our first training session and could tell she was doing it all wrong, letting her frustration get the better of her with arms swinging wildly and off-balance. Maybe it was the Abnegation in me, but I instinctively asked to train with her. It became a regular thing - which is how I wound up friends with the Dauntless-born. I wasn't a very good fighter either then, and our after-hours training helped both of us. Amanda thought she was too good for our practices, and then resented it when I outranked her.

And now I'm the one calculating rankings. The ranks for the second stage of initiation were simple, based on the distribution of times they spent in the simulations. Tris and Uriah had an advantage in this round because of their divergence. Fortunately being good at the simulations isn't enough to raise suspicions about divergence among the Dauntless, though they'll both be watched now that they're at the top of the rankings after Lynn. Tris ... it's no wonder I see so many faction ideals in her. She is Divergent. And careless, or maybe she just really didn't know what she was doing. She must not have been told much about divergence, not like I had when I made my choice to come here. At least she seems to have heeded my warning about the simulations. Hopefully the erased simulation won't draw too much suspicion - it was the only choice. Luckily I didn't have to erase any of Uriah's simulations. Still he gave himself away two days ago - he might as well have admitted it to me.

Right about now the three musketeers - Lynn, Uriah, and Marlene - should be celebrating their new rankings. Tris should be too, but I wonder if her friends will feel like celebrating.

When Zeke and Shauna order another round in celebration of their siblings' ranks, I wave off the bartender. I haven't had a drink since the night I talked to Tris in the Pit. It's not because of her - well, not entirely. I only promised her not to drink near the chasm. I've decided to try to hack back into the Erudite computers tonight - I want to see if I can find any more files that might clue me in about their secret plans. I still have no idea what to do about what little information I could decipher a few weeks ago. If I'm going to try to dig through their secure servers, I'll need to be thinking clearly.

"You think they'll try to sneak out to celebrate?" Shauna asks, bringing me back to their conversation about their siblings.

"After dealing with simulations all week? I doubt it. I bet they'll want to stay here in the Dauntless compound."

Shauna laughs. "Too bad. Lynn would, but probably only to prove herself. She's been furious about the boys not taking her seriously. Bet she's feeling good now though."

Later we are walking through the Dauntless compound. Passing the training room, we are about to turn the corner when we hear a boy's muffled shout and look at each other, eyebrows raised. It sounded like it could have been Uriah. "Somebody in the training room?" I ask.

Zeke smirks and nods. Shauna walks back, and we follow. Sure enough, we can hear muffled voices comng through the door. Walking in to the training room, we see Uriah aiming a pellet gun at a target, with Lynn standing near him. "I thought I heard something in here," I say. Marlene is at the far end of the room, the three musketeers feeling secure in their new rankings and out having fun.

What I didn't expect was for Tris to be with them. She's making friends with the Dauntless-born? I know Uriah's been friendly to her, but I didn't know they were hanging out like this. It's the first time I've really seen her with them, these three who are together almost all the time. Uriah was the one who invited her on the zip line trip. He already believed in her then. Neither Zeke nor Shauna seem bothered by Tris being here, either. I'm not sure how to feel about it, for two reasons. First, I can't help but wonder if Uriah is just being friendly or if he likes her. Second, it probably means her transfer friends weren't very happy after she leapfrogged them in the rankings. Al was, of course, ranked last. It was not a favor to him that he got to stay after Edward left with Myra.

Then Zeke joins in. "Turns out it's my idiot brother. You're not supposed to be in here after hours," he reminds them. "Careful or Four will tell Eric, and then you'll be as good as scalped." I glance over at him and see the glint in his eye.

Tris doesn't react to the empty threat. I look at the other initiates, who are reluctantly acknowledging that their private party is over. Lynn glares at us as she walks toward where we stand by the door. Uriah makes a face but puts the gun away before following her. Marlene trails behind, eating a muffin as she comes. Tris stands stubbornly for the moment watching her friends as they all head toward the door. For an instant I'm sorry that we barged in on them, because this was probably the best part of her day. I step out of the others' way. As Lynn passes she looks at me suspiciously. "You wouldn't tell Eric," she says.

Since they've already put an end to whatever was going on, there's no reason to goad them further. "No, I wouldn't," I agree. The initiates all must know Eric and I don't see eye to eye on much, seeing us as much as they do. She leads the way out of the room, not slowing down to wait for her friends or talk to her sister. She's probably annoyed at our intrusion. Shauna follows Marlene out, then Zeke and Uriah. Tris is the last to reach the door.

At once I am both acutely attuned to her, and also tired from retracing in my mind the small moments between us that feel real. I have tracked her actions and words for signs that suggest she is learning to trust me, in her explanations of simulations and the way she holds my gaze when it is just her and me. Tris doesn't look at me now. I usher her out of the room with a hand on her back. The thought that her friends might be resentful of her new ranking makes me want to reassure her all the more.

"Wait a second," I tell her.

She stops and turns toward me, wary. She doesn't trust me. But she's been open with me during training, admitting things most of them would keep from me. I try to smile, but am preoccupied thinking of her being here without her transfer friends and how the new rankings may wear on her friendships. I'm vaguely worried about her being separated from her initiate friends and resented now that she has proven herself. It's not about whether she is Dauntless - she has proven to me that she is . She's proven it to the other initiates, and even Shauna and Zeke don't doubt her. It's about whether she wants to be here. I imagine her missing her family, feeling friendless when she's back in the dorm for transfers - I don't want her to feel like giving up now.

"You belong here, you know that? You belong with us." I look at her trying to see if my words have any effect, hoping she believes me. It's just a matter of time until she's Dauntless. Until I can be myself with her, and find out what she really thinks of me. "It'll be over soon, so just ... hold on, okay?"

She doesn't answer. She just stares back at me, as if trying to make sense of my words and actions. She has no idea how careful I have to be around her - to not push her like I sometimes want, and to not show too much of my true self. Sometimes I think all she sees is a cold-hearted instructor ... other times, I convince myself that she sees past that façade. Under her direct gaze I look away, nervously scratching behind my ear as I wait for her to answer, or to walk away. I still don't know how to navigate around her.

Then her hand reaches toward mine and my heart pounds as she slips her fingers into the spaces between my fingers. Her fingers are cold to the touch but the shiver that runs up my spine has nothing to do with that. I have to look at her again. For a moment we are both frozen there, neither of us so much as breathing. It is the first time she has chosen to touch me, except when I've pulled her out of the net or onto a train which doesn't count. It's the first contact between us that hasn't felt like an instructor and a student.

I don't know how to respond. What I want to do is in direct conflict with what I have to do, which is nothing, because she's still my student. But this I know - that Tris is strong, and brave, and what I told her is true. She is Dauntless.

Then, suddenly, her hand pulls free and she turns to run after the others. I watch her go, feeling her absence in my core. The Abnegation aren't big on touching, and in some ways neither are the Dauntless, though public affection is common here. I've always felt awkward about physical contact, and touching Tris in training is just as difficult, if not more so because I'm so painfully aware of the boundaries between us. Even so, the last several weeks I have begun to understand why couples here touch so much.

* * *

I've been here for hours, surreptitiously hunting down secret Erudite files. As good as I am with computers, it's been slow going trying to make any sense of what I find. On top of the expected problem of Erudite security and files that read like gibberish, I'm having trouble focusing. Tris keeps popping into my thoughts. I wonder what she would make of this. I wonder what I am supposed to do anyway about secret war plans against Abnegation. I don't even know where to start. Tonight all I've found is more supply sheets and some spreadsheets of indecipherable codes. My eyes are starting to blur. It's time to call it a night.

As I shut down the auxiliary machine I've been working from, my eyes drift over the wall of monitors across the control room. There's not much activity at this hour of night - mostly the few night guards walking rounds. Then I see some movement on a screen showing one of the dim hallways off the Pit. At first it just looks like a group of people out late. I look twice and see suspicious movement. Not that that is unheard of here, but it catches my attention. And then I recognize Al's unmistakable form and look more closely. Another figure I can't make out, and then Peter, dragging something between them. And without even seeing their victim I know it's her. I'm out the door without another thought, racing through the Dauntless compound.

What the hell made me think they would leave her alone? Edward may have provoked Peter's attack, but Peter viewed him as a worthy opponent. Peter must hate being ranked below Tris - he sees her as weak even though she's not. It wouldn't take much for him to target her.

They were dragging her down a hallway off the Pit, so that's where I need to go. At the elevator lobby I press the button and immediately curse the damn compound and its slow elevators. Instead of waiting, I turn and race down the emergency stairs, taking them two at a time.

Finally I reach the darkened Pit, illuminated only by the scattered blue lights. I don't have to wonder where they have gone though. I hear her yell out, the sound echoing hollowly through the space between us. Eyes straining I see a struggle at the far side of the Pit near the chasm. Not very creative, but far too deadly. Panic rips through me as I race across the floor of the Pit.

A large shadow lumbers away. It must be Al, clumsy with his own panic. But my attention is on a small figure pulling herself up on the railing by the chasm. Tris. Peter lifts her up by her throat and holds her out over the chasm, as she struggles against him. Drew is right behind him, reaching for her.

I yell incomprehensibly, and they both turn toward me. Drew freezes at the sight of me, while Peter reacts instantly. He drops Tris and runs, taking the same route as Al but moving twice as fast. The air sears my lungs and time seems to stand still as Tris falls ... and then her arms catch hold of the railing. Drew stands between us and my fist barrels into him. He gasps for air, swinging his arms toward me. He lands a fist on my lip but it doesn't even register; he doesn't stand a chance. Rage pulses through me and I forget everything else as I bury my fists in Drew's face. He screams and falls to the ground and my anger pours into him through my feet and fists.

Then I hear a low, pained groan. Looking up I see Tris still clinging to the railing. What was I thinking? She doesn't have the arm strength to pull herself over, not after fighting them off as long as she did. I rush over and grasp her firmly under the arms, hoisting her back over the railing. She curls crumpled in my arms. I try to think, to decide what to do next. Drew is sprawled on the floor of the Pit. He won't be going anywhere soon. Tris lays still in my arms, only half-conscious. Blood seeps from her head wound to my shoulder. I have to get her out of here and to somewhere safe. I should probably take her to the infirmary, but there are too many watchful eyes there. I'm sure she won't want their poking and prodding, and I need to know that she's okay. In a gut decision I turn down a series of narrow corridors I know well and take her to my room.

I lay her unconscious body on the bed and grab a couple of washcloths, wetting one at the sink. Then I allow myself to finally take in her condition. Oh God, I hope she's okay. Three against one ... those bastards. I need to go deal with Drew but not until I've made sure she'll be okay while I'm gone. Gently I wipe the blood from her face. Her clothing is intact, and I don't find any other sources of blood. Finally I decide that she's best off resting for now, that there's nothing more I can do.

When I get back to the Pit, Drew is still lying there. I reach him and slam my foot into his side. He shudders with pain. He groans unintelligibly. All I hear is, "We were ... just ... scare ..." but I don't care what he has to say. I give him several more swift kicks for good measure, until he has given up trying to speak. I grab the boy by his collar and deliver another punch to his face. Then I drag him to the infirmary. Just inside the door I dump him onto the floor and turn on my heel, walking immediately out again. I have more important things to worry about than him.

* * *

_To be continued ..._


	4. New Rankings (part two)

A/N: Thanks everyone for reading! Thanks to Belle453 for her beta / help! [For the record, I started this before reading Allegiant & finished it after. Hopefully my characterization of Four remains consistent with my own work and with canon.] Lots of this - especially dialogue - is not mine; it comes straight from Veronica Roth's Divergent.

* * *

When I get back to my room, Tris hasn't moved from where I put her on the bed. I look over her injuries again to convince myself there's nothing more to do for her now. Still I hover over her protectively, as if my presence will make some difference. I am drawn to her, even now. I want to touch her again, to lace my fingers with hers like she did only a few hours ago ... but she is untouchable. She just faced down attackers outnumbering her, and the threat of falling to her death in the chasm. _Now what?_

I can't just sit here and stare at her. _Could I have done more? _There must have been something I could have done to prevent this, but I can't imagine what. I consider filing a report, but decide to wait. I doubt Tris would want me to, and either way it should be her decision. I guess I have time then, until she wakes on her own or I wake her.

Have I lived up to any of the faction ideals today? I suspect not. I have not been kind or even particularly truthful. I've sought knowledge like the Erudite, but didn't learn anything useful and still don't know what to do with the information I have found about the Erudite's war plans. That hardly qualifies. I didn't even figure out that Tris was in danger from Peter and his lackeys.

I haven't had to face any real fears today. But if I were truly Dauntless I would have told her who I really am by now and how I feel about her, instead of following the rules and treating her like any other initiate … or maybe I would have kissed her, because after all, the Dauntless would choose action over words. I can't kiss her though, not until it's the real me that she sees.

That leaves Abnegation. Going to Tris' aid can hardly be counted as selfless. While most fights in Dauntless are left to the people involved, as an instructor it's appropriate for me to intervene in such an unfair attack. And even if it weren't, I care too much about her for it to be selfless.

I don't even know if she knew it was me in the Pit; she was barely conscious. I can still feel her hands clinging to me after I pulled her up, and as I carried her back here – though she didn't really know what she was doing. And now we are going to have to navigate this – and I still have to pretend as if I'm some objective instructor and seeing her still passed out is killing me. I wish she'd wake up already.

I force my eyes from her quiet face, scanning the room until they fall on the words painted on my wall. _Fear God Alone_. Seeing the words as Tris sleeps, it's as if they already belong to her. She has fears, I know that, but she doesn't seem to let them stop her. She just faces them head on. I wonder if I have ever seen fear slow her down, outside of simulations. I can't think of when.

I can already imagine how she'll feel when she wakes. She won't let Peter beat her. She'll want to show him he can't stop her. But that would only fuel his anger. She should pretend she's weak so he'll leave her alone. Now that is hard to imagine: Tris being weak – even if she's pretending. I know instantly it's the safest option for her … and that she won't want to hear it. She might hate me just for suggesting it. I try not to think about it. A bruise is already forming on her cheek. When she wakes up, we should put ice on it. If she doesn't wake up in the next hour, I should wake her up myself.

My hands are sticky with Drew's drying blood, my shirt stained with it. I pull off the shirt and dig through a drawer for a clean black t-shirt. I pull it on over my head, then go to the sink in the bathroom to wash the blood off my hands. Before I turn the water on, I study my reflection. There's a small cut on the corner of my lip, the only damage Drew managed to inflict. Most of the blood on me is his. Methodically I wipe the blood from my face, then rinse my hands in cold water and check that none of the scrapes will bleed before drying them. I head back into the bedroom and pull an ice pack from the fridge for Tris. I don't want to wake her, but that cheek is going to need it.

Relief floods through me when our eyes meet. She's awake. She's watching me, and before I can say anything she says, "your hands." Her voice is raw but clear. If the situation were different I might laugh – she's trained her whole life as Abnegation. Of course she doesn't think of herself even after everything she has just been through. It's the same training that allows me to forget my own fear in dangerous situations. Maybe it's one of the things that draws me to her.

I wasn't sure she'd known it was me before, but she must have to take my presence and the strange surroundings so calmly now. "My hands are none of your concern," I answer. I hope that if she's worried about a few bruised knuckles it means that her own injuries are only superficial.

I prop a knee on the edge of the bed and slide the ice pack under her head. As I'm adjusting it she reaches a hand up toward my face. It hovers in the air, and time stops. I keep my eyes on the edge of the ice pack and the twist of hair behind her ear. I'm barely breathing. Then her fingers press lightly against the cut on my mouth. The second time today she has chosen to touch me. Is it only because she's from Abnegation that she's concerned about my injuries? "Tris, I'm alright," I insist gently. I am already tucking away the feeling of her fingers on my lip but right now I'm still too focused on her attack to let it distract me. _This is not the time_, I chide myself severely.

Her hand drops away and she asks, "Why were you there?"

I can't tell her about spying on Erudite - not right now. It wouldn't be fair to her, and right now the secret files seem abstract and remote. The Erudite are still trying to gain support by tearing down Abnegation in news articles, a far cry from declaring war on another faction. And there are too many other things I need to tell her first. "I was coming back from the control room," I tell her. "I heard a scream." It's true, as far as it goes, even if I'd already seen them on the monitors.

She accepts it and moves on, as if there is a checklist in her head of missing information, blanks to fill in. "What did you do to them?" she asks.

"I deposited Drew at the infirmary a half hour ago. Peter and Al ran," I tell her. I wish Peter hadn't gotten away, but if she'd fallen because I chased Peter, I never could have forgiven myself. I wonder if Peter knows she is alive. Sourly I add, "Drew claimed they were just trying to scare you. At least, I think that's what he was trying to say."

"He's in bad shape?" she asks, a hard edge in her voice.

"He'll live. In what condition, I can't say," I answer.

There's a glint in her eye as she squeezes my arm. "Good," she answers fiercely. Warmth spreads through me, because for the moment we are united, instead of separated by our positions in Dauntless. She has fought off three attackers, faced death, and her first response was concern for my injuries and anger at her attackers.

Then she starts crying. Some Dauntless, like Eric, would see tears as a sign of weakness, but they would be wrong. Her tears are an outlet for emotions brought on by the attack. I squat down beside the bed and wait. I'm still angry on her behalf, glad like she is that at least one of her attackers has been punished. Her hand is still on my arm, and it suddenly feels wrong – like she is comforting me when she is the one who was attacked. I pull my arm from her grasp and cup my hand carefully against her cheek, brushing her skin with my thumb. It's time to think about what we do now, which means she needs to know the options. "I could report this," I offer.

I don't have to wait for her answer. "No. I don't want them to think I'm scared," she declares.

I'm not surprised. I nod, my thumb brushing across her skin. "I figured you would say that," I say. In that case, the question will be how she responds when she sees her attackers in the morning.

"You think it would be a bad idea if I sat up?" she asks.

It's a good idea, if her body can handle it. It might help identify any injuries I've missed. There's only one way to find out. "I'll help you," I assure her. I support her head with one hand and her shoulder with the other as she pushes herself up off the bed suppressing a groan. Tears still wet her cheeks. I know that she is in pain, and cautiously managing it. I wish she was open about it, but she is so vigilant that even here she's trying to bury it. I hand her the ice pack from the bed and tell her, "You can let yourself be in pain. It's just me here," I tell her. I want her to know she doesn't have to keep proving herself to me. She bites her lip as if unsure. I know she thinks of me as an instructor - as a judge. What choice does she have? She's not supposed to see Tobias – not my fears, not my uncertainties, and definitely not my real feelings.

Earlier tonight I saw her with the Dauntless-born, and I worry that their acceptance and friendship is creating a wedge between her and the other transfers. So I advise her, "I suggest you rely on your transfer friends to protect you from now on."

"I thought I was," she answers shakily, and then her body convulses with a sob and she curls into herself. _Stupid_, I think, realizing too late why it's the wrong thing to say. Al was supposed to be one of those friends. But weakness and jealousy got the better of him. A moment later she confirms the thought when she says, "but Al..."

The very name makes me angry again. Al is an idiot – and he doesn't belong in Dauntless. He should've been gone after stage 1. He must have been especially vulnerable after the new rankings were announced, seeing Tris vault to the top ranking so suddenly. He's been so affected by the simulations, he may not even have noticed how strong she's been. He couldn't accept her for who she really is. "He wanted you to be the small, quiet girl from Abnegation," I tell her. "He hurt you because your strength made him feel weak. No other reason."

I hate to even think it, but Al's jealousy is just one sign of the trouble the new rankings could cause among the transfer initiates. Now they see how strong she is, and it intimidates them. After the rankings came out, she wasn't with her transfer friends, and I'm sure that jealousy played a role in that. Maybe she would be better off with Uriah and Lynn and Marlene, who at least have no problem accepting her strength, but it would just cause more resentment among the transfers. And even if they protected her most of the time she'd still be alone in the dorm. She still needs her transfer friends, at least through the last week of initiation. "The others won't be as jealous if you show some vulnerability. Even if it isn't real." She can use this attack – feign weakness, and reclaim those friends.

She scoffs. "You think I have to pretend to be vulnerable?"

"Yes. I do," I answer. Abnegation doesn't teach people to see their strength. Nobody could be expected to beat off three attackers at once and still she survived. She lets me hold the ice pack so she can rest her arm. I stand up to put a little space between us, unsure how she might react to the rest of what I have to say.

"You're going to want to march into breakfast tomorrow and show your attackers they had no effect on you," I say. "But you should let that bruise on your cheek show, and keep your head down." I know it will be hard for her, but it's her safest option. Just as fighting is not always the bravest move, showing strength is not always the wisest.

"I don't think I can do that," she objects blankly. She looks up at me as if waiting for another option.

I shouldn't cross the line from instructor. "You have to," I insist. If she seems strong after this attack, it will only strengthen her friends' resentment and Peter's grudge.

"I don't think you get it," she argues, flushing angrily. "They _touched_ me."

Fresh anger flows through me. "Touched you," I say uncomprehendingly. I grip the ice pack so tightly my knuckles turn white. I had no idea that they were that depraved. _What all happened before I got there_?

She backpedals. "Not ... in the way you're thinking," she coughs. "But ... almost." Suddenly awkwardness fills the void between us and she looks away. _Almost_? That doesn't make it better. I wish they were here now so I could destroy them one by one. The night's attack seems even worse now. And the idea that it could happen again is ... daunting. I know instantly that I'll be spending more time in the control room - and not to spy on Erudite. Since I can't actually keep her close, it'll be the best way for me to keep tabs on both Tris and Peter.

God give her strength, to seem vulnerable in the face of her attackers.

After a long silence she asks me, "What is it?"

I sigh and look at her, concerned how she will take my words. "I don't want to say this, but I feel like I have to. It is more important for you to be safe than right, for the time being. Understand?"

She nods. I know it won't satisfy her to play it safe, but it's just for one more week. She seems slightly deflated though, as if she missed the "time being" part of what I said. I tilt her head up to look at me as I add, "But please, when you see an opportunity …" she looks at me tensely and I say, "ruin them."

She laughs and tells me, "You're a little scary, Four." It sounds like something an initiate would say, given how I act around them. I told her before she wasn't supposed to see me _real_. But the way she says it, I don't think she's afraid of me.

My hand still rests against her cheek. After everything that's happened, I can't bear for her to see me the way all the Dauntless do. My name here came from my own initiation, when the Dauntless watched us go through our fear landscapes as they will watch Tris in a week. So few fears was unheard of. The news that I had only four fears to confront spread among the Dauntless like fire through a parched forest. None of them remembered my name, but they called out to me anyway. _Four_. It stuck. They think having only four fears shows that I am Dauntless, but I know better. I've always been uneasy with the name, but I took it on so they would forget where I came from. Now it's a reminder that I still haven't made any progress. It's not that I expect to be fearless, or even want to be, but after two years, something should have changed. Instead, my worst childhood fears, the things that drove me to Dauntless, still haunt me. That is my failure.

"Do me a favor and don't call me that," I say. The fact is I can't be just her instructor. But she still has to deal with the after-effects of the attack. She needs time to deal with what happened and to repair her friendships. I can't get in the way of that. I can't be selfish now. I will be patient, but I know now that I won't wait for the initiation banquet. That I will have to find a way to tell her - to show her - who I really am.

"What do I call you, then?" she asks.

It's a logical question, but I have no good answer. I can't tell her to call me Tobias without an explanation. Even if she doesn't know me she knows my father's name and I am not letting him usurp her thoughts tonight. I will have to come up with a way to tell her, though. I have thought about being with Tris, even daydreamed about what would happen if I told her how I felt. I have imagined secretly dating her, of sneaking off with her by night and fooling Eric and the other initiates in training by day. Until now I've been firmly convinced that it was only a dangerous fantasy that I had to deny until after initiation. Now I don't think I can wait that long.

But I have to wait tonight - now isn't the time. I move my hand from her face and say, "Nothing. Yet." She doesn't point out that I'm being unhelpfully vague again. She is silent, suggesting she will not press me too soon.

I hold the ice pack to her head. I want to tell her who I really am. I don't want to hide anything from her. I wonder what she will think of me when she knows the truth. I won't wait until initiation is over to find out. I can't. I'll have to find a way to tell her. Tris holds her side with one hand, clearly in pain. They probably kicked her. I catalog her injuries - her cheek, her head, and some part of her torso. The ice pack is melting in my hand, wetting her hair. I busy myself by switching it out for another from the fridge; this one I wrap in a thin towel so that she can use it overnight. "You should sleep," I tell her as I hand her the new ice pack.

She nods, then asks, "what about you?"

"I'll sleep on the floor," I tell her. She lies back onto the bed, adjusting the ice pack against her hair. I stretch out on the floor in front of the bed, facing her. If she needs anything, I want her to be able to wake me easily.

* * *

I wake and for a moment am disoriented by the hard, cold surface under me. Then I see the bed, the mop of straight blonde hair, and the girl it belongs to. The bruise on her cheek is a mere shadow in the dim light. I should check her injuries, but decide to wait. I don't want to wake her. I get up and stand by the bed, watching her sleep for a moment. Last night she was hurting, physically and emotionally, but even then I could tell that the attack hadn't demoralized her. She hadn't for an instant wanted to give up or run away. She didn't sigh over what had happened; she wanted to move forward and beat them. I hope she will be able to pretend that this has cowed her in front of the other initiates, for her own safety.

I take a change of clothes with me to the shower. It's a good thing, because when I come back into the room Tris is awake, standing on tiptoe in front of the mirror that's really too high for her. It's a bit late for me to worry about what she'll think of my room, I suppose, though it suddenly occurs to me to wonder. She looks at me through the mirror and I run the towel over my hair again. It buys me a minute to stop thinking about her as the girl I like and start thinking about her as an injured initiate again. Soon we will have to join the other Dauntless at breakfast.

Her hair is tied into a knot. Her bruise stands out sharply on her cheek but she looks as strong and determined as ever.

"Hi," she says, sounding tense.

As her instructor, I should assess her injuries. I walk over and check the bruise on her cheek. "Not bad," I say. "How's your head?" there's a nasty bump, one I would be happy to pay back Peter and Al for, one that probably pales in comparison to what I dealt Drew last night. But that was in the heat of the moment and the fury of discovering them. I won't be doing the same to Peter or Al.

"Fine," she responds automatically. It has to be a lie, though if she's well enough to pretend then she'll be fine.

I drop my hand from her cheek to her ribs, and don't miss the way she tenses at my touch. I am still her instructor. I ask, "And your side?"

"Only hurts when I breathe," she jokes, and I crack a smile for the first time today.

"Not much you can do about that," I allow, feeling her shallow breaths through her ribcage.

"Peter would probably throw a party if I stopped breathing," she says bitterly.

"Well, I would only go if there was cake," I quip. The chocolate cake is, after all, one of the best things about the Dauntless. She laughs, which was my goal, but then winces and grabs her side to steady herself, her hand landing over mine. The air between us feels charged, but I force myself to slide my hand out from under hers.

I sit on the edge of the bed and let her finish getting ready. Then, we walk to the dining hall in silence, instructor and student. I go in first and after a minute she follows, but to her own table and her own group of friends.

* * *

As I am finishing breakfast, Drew walks into the dining hall. I can't help but feel satisfied when I see the cut above his eye, swollen and split lip, and plentiful bruises.

A few minutes later, before Drew has had much chance to eat, I get up and walk over to between the transfers' tables. I see that Tris is between Will and Uriah, and her friends' concern for her is clear. I had to remind myself that it's what I wanted, because the attention the two boys give her doesn't sit well with me. The initiates go quiet and I announce, "Transfers, we're doing something different today. Follow me." I lead them out to the Pit, the scene of last night's attack, and up one of the paths along the outer wall.

I'm feeling good, united with Tris against Drew and Peter. I will not go out of my way to injure them, but I will not be kind to them. Al is not with us. If he has any sense he'll have remembered by now that Tris was his best friend here, the one who protected him from Eric, and he'll regret his participation in last night's attack. I turn and walk backward as I survey the group. My eyes are drawn to Drew's bruised face at the back of the pack and I can't resist calling out, "Pick up the pace, Drew!" I glance at Tris to share the joke and there's a hint of a smile on her face, but I'm distracted by the way she and Will hold on to each other and suddenly it's not so funny. I am the one that told her to go back to her transfer friends, to pretend to be vulnerable so they would support her. Does she have to hold his arm though? What if there's something more than friendship between them? The thought makes me go cold. I can't keep pretending that I am only her instructor.

I lead them up through the glass ceiling to the level above the Pit, into the glass-walled common room. Then I usher them into the fear landscape room. It's disabled, so all we see is a dusty old room, exposed pipes, and "Dauntless" written in red spray-paint on the opposite wall.

"This is a different kind of simulation," I tell them. "known as the fear landscape. It has been disabled for our purpose, so this isn't what it will be like the next time you see it. Through your simulations, we have stored data about your worst fears. The fear landscape accesses that data and presents you with a series of virtual obstacles. Some of the obstacles will be fears you previously faced in your simulations. Some may be new fears."

I scan the crowd of initiates and explain, "The difference is that you are aware, in the fear landscape, that it is a simulation, so you will have all your wits about you as you go through it. The number of fears you have in your land scape varies according to how many you have. I told you before that the third stage of initiation focuses on mental preparation. That is because it requires you to control both your emotions and your body—to combine the physical abilities you learned in stage one with the emotional mastery you learned in stage two, to keep a level head."

I look at Tris, who is thankfully no longer tangled with Will, and explain her last hurdle before she's accepted into Dauntless. "Next week you will go through your fear landscape as quickly as possible in front of a panel of Dauntless leaders. That will be your final test, which determines your ranking for stage three. Just as stage two of initiation is weighted more heavily than stage one, stage three is weighted heaviest of all. Understood?"

They nod as one. And it clicks. I have been wondering how I reveal who I really am to Tris, because I cannot imagine saying those words. But I could show her. Here in this room, she could see all my ugliest secrets. For better or for worse she would know.

"You can get past each obstacle in one of two ways. Either you find a way to calm down enough that the simulation registers a normal, steady heartbeat, or you find a way to face your fear, which can force the simulation to move on. One way to face a fear of drowning is to swim deeper, for example." With a shrug I finish by telling them my advice. "So I suggest that you take the next week to consider your fears and develop strategies to face them."

Peter objects loudly, "That doesn't sound fair. What if one person only has seven fears and someone else has twenty? That's not their fault."

I stare at him. If someone else had asked, I might have explained why he's wrong. The more fears, the more they will have to overcome to be able to act in a difficult situation. It's perfectly fair when what we are worried about is their ability to respond quickly under pressure. But Peter asking about fairness, after his behavior, is ridiculous. And I'm not going to miss the opportunity to call him out on it. This is how I will exact my personal revenge on Peter - with words, insidious thoughts that deal deeper wounds than my fists could.

I laugh coldly. "Do you really want to talk to me about what's fair?" I walk toward him and the other initiates crowd out of my way. Folding my arms I stare him down and say, viciously, "I understand why you're worried, Peter. The events of last night certainly proved that you are a miserable coward." Peter doesn't dare answer. If he didn't realize it was me last night, or thought he'd gotten away without being recognized, he knows better now. "So now we all know," I finish slowly, "that you are afraid of a short, skinny girl from Abnegation."

I see, in the corner of my eye, the reactions of Tris and her friends. I can tell without looking that she is smiling. I can see Will's arm around her shoulder, but it doesn't bother me now. I'm not afraid of a little competition. I'm already working on a plan, to bring her back here and show her the truth. I've had to keep too many things from her, but now I promise myself that will end soon.


End file.
